


Dear Jack

by JackPhryne4eva



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Caught, Clothing Kink, Confessions, Embarrassment, F/M, Letters, Off-screen Relationship(s), Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackPhryne4eva/pseuds/JackPhryne4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Fire_Sign: "It all went so spectacularly wrong that it goes right." Confessional style letter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts), [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts), [afterdinnerminx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdinnerminx/gifts).



Jack,

I'm not sure how you feel about what happened last night and I know you may not want to talk about it, but I want you to know that I enjoyed myself.  
Immensely.  
When we started off the evening, I did not expect it to end up with us in the shower. Nevertheless I want you to know that I liked sucking you off.  
And I'd like to do it again.  
If only to see that expression on your face.

Next time I'll be sure Dot and Mr. Butler aren't at home. When they barged in to rescue me, they prevented a truly memorable orgasm. You really are quite talented, regardless of what you claim.  
While I was pressed to the tile, it was cold, yes, but I found it balanced the heat filling me. You filling me.  
Your fingers do things to me that I never expected.  
Mine aren't enough! I've tried since to touch that spot you hit. Really I've tried!  
Does the thought of me trying excite you?

Do you think we could try it again, at yours this time?  
When do you take lunch?  
I can pretend to take you to lunch but instead we can drive to your house. Or the Windsor. Whichever.  
I think we can improve on the ending from last night. What do you think?

Don't send a reply note with Dot.  
Just tell her yes or no.

P xx


	2. A Tisket a Tasket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phryne tasks Dot with an indelicate chore

When Dot was handed the note and Miss Fisher asked her to take it to City South, she almost said no. A stronger word almost joined it, but she managed to hold them back and just nod.

Miss Fisher perhaps noted her trepidation and trilled, “Oh, just hand it to Hugh and ask him to carry it in to the Inspector. He’ll give a response, so wait for it.”

Dot flushed pink. She couldn’t do this. She’d rather be kidnapped by the Latvians again. 

After last night’s failed rescue attempt of Miss Fisher, she could not look the Inspector in the eye. She had seen so much more of him than she’d seen of any man.   
And that memory was burned in detail in her mind. To pretend that she had not seen his backside, and his frontside for that matter, was too much to expect of her.

But go she must. 

Arriving at City South was worse than confessing to kissing a Protestant.

“Good morning, Dottie! Everything alright with Miss Fisher?” She almost squeaked and scurried back out to the street. Covering her fresh blush, she looked away from the door and down to her basket. She brought out the freshly baked scones and tea. 

Hugh beamed at his sweetheart. No other Constable received such attentions at work. When Dot pulled the letter from her pocket and slid it across the counter, he saw it was addressed to the Inspector. “Shall I take that in to the Inspector for you, Dottie?”

Dottie almost fainted in relief. “Thank you, Hugh. I-I think Miss Fisher expects a reply as well.” 

Watching Hugh walk into the Inspector’s office, Dot had to again restrain herself. What if the Inspector put his head out to see who had brought the letter? She looked at the front door again. Clutching her crucifix, she silently sent a supplication to St. Agatha.

When Hugh came out again a moment later, he had an odd look on his face.  
Dot really didn’t want to know what the Inspector had said, but she had to get his response for Miss Fisher. “Did he have an answer, Hugh?”

Hugh looked up at Dot, “He didn’t open the letter. I handed it to him and said you were waiting and the Inspector sort of… he… I think he, blushed. And then he sent me out.” Dot blushed again. 

“What’s this about, Dot?” Her blush went a deeper red. “Dottie?”  
“I’m not sure what to say, Hugh. It must be something between Miss Fisher and the Inspector.” She felt her face on fire and was sure she could never manage to find words to explain this in confession to Father Grogan let alone Hugh! 

Fumbling in increasing agitation, Dot dropped her now empty basket and bent to pick it up as the Inspector’s door opened and the Inspector said briefly, “Tell Miss Fisher, no.” and closed his door again.

Dot straightened up and looked at Hugh who looked at her. They both looked at the Inspector’s door. 

“Was that the response you were expecting?”  
“I have no idea, Hugh.” Then Dot gathered up her things and fled the station before Hugh could question her further.


	3. Oh, Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mr. Butler has a bit of a think.

Oh, _Dear._

Mr. Butler could quite see the situation. Regrettably, he had not been the first to reach Miss Fisher’s room. The signs _were_ there in spite of the dim light.  
If Dorothy had not screamed in shocked embarrassment, the entire disaster could have been neatly sidestepped. 

Rather than...  
Ah well. Nothing to be done there. 

Once more unto the breach.

But how to move a man like the Inspector from his modest stillness and humility… to stiffen his sinews?  
He could hear Mrs. Butler snort delicately into her tea.

No, perhaps Shakespeare should not to be taken literally in this instance.  
Well? Why not?  
In this campaign, the Inspector had certainly shown a lack of fortitude.  
Barricaded for days at the Station (according to Hugh via Dorothy) in order to evade Miss Fisher's calls (according to the lady herself).

Was not Miss Fisher’s advice to Dorothy during the unfortunate Frederick Burn situation apt even here? _You must stand proud and laugh it off._

Mr. Butler shook his head; the Inspector was not quite that sort of man…

After the nerve tonic incident, he was mortified to discover himself in Miss Fisher’s bedroom. And even attempted to slip away unseen.  
That was a _minor_ faux pas in comparison to what the Inspector had endured this time. And Mr. Butler was not sure that Miss Fisher’s direct style would summon up his blood.

No, this situation required something more delicate.  
Possibly the most delicate machinations of persuasion of Mr. Butler’s career.  
And he would prove his mettle.

All he needed now was a word with the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines I used from Shakespeare's _Henry V_ Act III Scene 1  
>  Because no one can talk about Jack without sprinkling in some Shakespeare.
> 
> And the third to last line came from a poet on Tumblr.  
> The entire text of the poem is below with the person's account name. Follow them, the poetry is lovely.  
> It fit so perfectly with Mr. Butler's attitude (and the issue with Jack and Phryne) that I _had_ to use it.
> 
>  
> 
> **SyntaxandSemantics (tumblr)**  
>  _the delicate machinations of persuasion_  
>  or how we failed at wanting effectively,  
> curving question and answer  
> around a personal evolution -
> 
>    
>  _you could say we grew_  
>  some length  
> apart, somewhat accidentally  
> and i’m sorry
> 
>    
>  _for this shape of us, the workings_  
>  out of defeat by minutes and miles  
> as we stand on distant sides  
> of a reality measured too much
> 
>    
>  _too often i think of you_  
>  and how happiness exists  
> in multiple dimensions,  
> of one where we are bent straight
> 
>    
>  _and the fullness completes_


	4. Mr. Butler's Night Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack relives his memories of that night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaslightgallows who deserves something light for her (belated) birthday.

###  **Partie Un: Mr. Butler’s Evening Off ******

Late in the week, Jack set aside his pile of paperwork and purposefully dragged his memory back to the glorious events leading up to his disastrous finale at Wardlow. It had been everything he had hoped it would be, at first.

Dorothy had gone to the pictures with Hugh. A Valentino? Hugh seemed thrilled at the prospect of holding Dot’s hand as she squirmed under Valentino’s seductive eyes. 

It was Mr. Butler’s evening off. A welcoming smile at the door, a tray with cocktails, and an announcement of his departure.

And then there were none.

Curled intimately on the chaise, Phryne and Jack drank their deceptively delicious cocktails. (Mr. Butler knew his craft well.)

Phryne’s eyes glowed. Warming him faster than the cocktails or the unnecessary fire, which threw fascinating shadows onto Phryne’s laughing face.  
She was entertaining him with her English schoolgirl escapades. Something about an ink pot and a bicycle pump.

The chaise _was_ quite comfortable, as he recalled, as was the fire.  
He removed his jacket; she removed her shoes.  
She then attempted to entice him to loosen his tie, but he staunchly refused to give in to her whims. On _principle_.  
Jack retaliated by spider crawling his fingers up her bare foot.  
Phryne screamed and dropped her cocktail on herself.  
She looked up and her eye glinted wickedly on Jack. 

…..

This was where, Jack reflected, that he had begun to lose control. He thought at the time that he had been in control. But had he really ever been in control? She'd been playing draughts and captured him. She'd been playing to that outcome all along. Who was the spider and who the fly?

…..

Setting down her emptied glass, Phryne surveyed her ruined dress. With a smirk, she rose smoothly and turned to leave the room.  
Looking back at Jack, she sassed, “Make yourself comfortable _here_ , Jack, or come up and make yourself _useful_ : Choose something more _waterproof_ for me to wear this time.” It definitely did not sound like a question. It sounded like an irritated demand. And without waiting for his response, she turned to head up the stairs.

The consumption of several cocktails may have clouded his judgment, but Jack considered that he could safely enjoy this new game. Selecting clothes was not committing to anything physical. And Phryne was obviously not pleased with Jack for his teasing. He quietly laughed into his cocktail glass.

Making up his mind, he rose from the chaise, and followed Phryne out of the parlor.

At the top of the stairs, he heard Phryne turning on her lights and opening doors.  
When he finally gathered the nerve to step into her room, Phryne was just whisking an emerald green and gold kimono from her bed and disappeared into the en suite.  
Standing in her inner sanctum, Jack stood foolishly. What was he supposed to be doing there?  
Returning a moment later, Phryne walked briskly to her armoire and flung open its doors. She bent to open bureau drawers then straightened to fix Jack with her mesmerizing blue eyes. 

She waved towards the armoire, “Now, Jack. I want you to locate something that can withstand _rough treatment_.” She indicated the bureau drawers, “And here are my other garments.” She turned and sashayed back into the en suite.

In a moment he heard water running and imagined Phryne slipping the green kimono off her shoulders. Jack was mildly (lying to himself again) amused (aroused) by the intimacy of the moment. True, nothing was actually happening that couldn’t be adequately explained if someone happened to walk in at just that instant. 

He was a man (a colleague and friend) who had been invited to a woman’s room.  
To select her attire.  
While she bathed (presumably naked).  
Behind that (probably unlocked) door.  
Ten feet (maybe closer to eight) from where he was standing.  
Next to her (decadent, luxurious) bed.

He flushed and stepped nearer the armoire.  
Clearing his throat in a professional manner, he focused on his responsibility more seriously (so he imagined).  
Opening the armoire doors wider, he reached in and selected a likely choice:  
Skirt. White. Silk.  
He glided his hand up the skirt. And felt like he was caressing Phryne's thigh.  
He returned it to its place. Too cool this evening for a sensuous skirt. (Now he _was_ lying.)

Jack pulled out another choice: Dress. Green. Beaded. He grazed his nails across the front and imagined her body responding. Hurriedly he placed it back in line. Beading was too fussy for a casual evening in.

Shifting aside the other dresses and skirts, he found black trousers. He nodded to himself. A comfortable choice. He smoothly stroked his hands up the legs before refocusing himself to lay them gently on the bed. 

Next a blouse. Glancing at the availability, he chose a dark floral design she had worn the previous week. It had exposed her collarbones and invited him in for closer inspection. He had not taken it up on the offer last week. He touched the delicate fabric and imagined Phryne’s skin flushing under his hands.  
Backing slowly away from the armoire, he laid the blouse with the trousers.

Not quite sure what more was expected of him, he cast an eye into the open drawers and saw her _undergarments_.  
No, her _lingerie_. No other word would do. 

He froze. 

Then he was drawn to a lacy something. Blue. He (almost) couldn’t bring himself to reach out his hand. 

The urge to touch this intimate article flooded him. He stretched out his hand to stroke the delicate lace. 

Bringing the garment up to his nose, he inhaled. Was that her scent clinging to it?

A tidal wave of Phryne overwhelmed him.  
Her boudoir. Her clothes. Her perfume. _Her._

He shivered.

He dropped the French lace and ripped the tie from his throat.


	5. Deus Ex Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the wheels of the machine begin to turn
> 
>  
> 
> For afterdinnerminx, find the frivolous frou frou

 

Mr. Butler rarely called a meeting. Usually Miss Fisher called them together to gather resources or plan offensive action. Sitting at the head of the kitchen table, Mr. Butler now assumed full command and issued their marching orders.

Looking at her with steely eyes, Mr. Butler began, “Dorothy, I need you to gather some information.”

…..  
After his Monday shift, Hugh came along to Wardlow for tea and sympathy.  
“I’m so sorry you had to work through the weekend, Hugh. I just made a lemon cake, would you like a slice?”  
“You’re so thoughtful, Dottie. Thank you.”  
Plating an enormous slice of the cake gave Dot an opportunity to choose her next weapon. And when Hugh was well into his third slice, she unleashed it with stunning accuracy. 

“Hugh, my mother would like us to come for lunch this week. When will you be able to go?” she gazed at Hugh with open frankness.  
“I’m sorry Dottie, I won’t have a day free until the Inspector does. And that’s not until Saturday. And there’s a footie match.” Hugh seemed conflicted.  
“Oh, that’s alright, Hugh. I’m sure she’ll still be pleased to see you after the match. And will we still be able to go to the pictures on Friday?” Dot’s voice was filled with earnest hope.  
Hesitantly, Hugh answered, “I’m not sure, Dot, the Inspector has me working a double shift that day.”  
“Well, I’m sure _Son of Sheik_ will still be a good film next week. We can go then.” With gentle confidence, Dot patted Hugh’s sleeve and smiled.  
…..

Fixing the two red raggers with eyes akin to lit fuses, Mr. Butler stated firmly, “Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates, I need you to locate a quantity of _potassium nitrate_.”

…..

Standing in the parlor with an air of chagrin and a whiff of smoke, Mr. Butler addressed Miss Fisher as she set down her coat and bag, “I realize that you were intending to be at home this weekend, Miss. However, there was an unfortunate incident with the roast. Might I suggest a removal to the Windsor until kitchen repairs can be made?”

After a review of the damages and perusal of the ruined roast, Miss Fisher announced, “I believe the Windsor would be perfect. Thank you Mr. Butler.”

“Very good, Miss. I’ll telephone the Windsor to have a suite prepared for your imminent arrival. Shall I have Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates drive you or shall I place the luggage in your car?”

Bert and Cec deposited Miss Fisher and her copious luggage with the Windsor’s tutting Concierge, Mr. George, “Such domestic accidents are dreadful!” They smoothly departed as the Concierge snapped his fingers at two bellman to step livelier. The plump, pompous man showed her personally to her plush suite and gave her the tour of the furnishings recently updated on that floor. 

…..

Jack’s Friday evening shift was a couple of hours before its end. He looked at the clock and sighed. The week had been strained and difficult:  
A spat of thefts that turned out to be a distraught mother trying to feed her fatherless children.  
Two domestic cases; one of which had resulted in another knot on the head.  
And a week spent trying to avoid… With a couple of days off, he contemplated visiting Perth or Tasmania or...  


The phone rang and he heard Hugh answering:  


“City South Police Station.”  
“Please slow down, sir. A theft?” Jack’s head snapped up. _Another one?_  
“I’m sorry, sir, where are you calling from?” _Yes, where?_  
“And your name, sir?” Expectantly, he waited.  
“We’ll be right there, sir.” Jack frowned. _Hugh could be quite exasperating._

 

In Jack’s professional opinion, a hysterical valet was not usually a cause for alarm. Valets could often reach this state while away from their masters when the starch was off the collars or the coffee pot wasn’t set just so next to the cream. Nevertheless Jack and Hugh still proceeded directly to the Windsor to question Eugene Powell.

It turned out to be about a stolen diamond cravat pin. 

Mr. Powell, a sleek, self-important man eager to make the police as upset as he, impressed on Jack the urgency of the matter, “I want to avoid alerting Mr. Bullock of its absence until the last possible moment. He is dining out this evening but intends to wear the pin with his green Harlequin silk cravat at the theater tomorrow evening. The diamond is quite striking against the pattern.”  


Hugh jotted everything in his notebook while Jack inwardly rolled his eyes.  


Damn cravats.

Outwardly, he attempted to soothe the distraught valet. “Of course, Mr. Powell, we will do everything we can to recover the lost property.”  


“Lost?!?! Are you suggesting I would lose such a valuable piece of jewelry?” Mr. Powell looked horrified at such an insult against his professionalism and proceeded to defend himself. “The piece was here on the dressing table before I stepped out to ensure the laundry was being handled properly. When I returned, I noticed a _person_ coming from this end of the hall and instead of continuing to the lift, stepped into a suite just a few doors down.”  


“Are you suggesting a guest of this hotel walked into Mr. Bullock’s suite and took the cravat pin?”  


“I’m merely suggesting that this _person_ may have more information than I.” He sniffed haughtily at Jack’s lack of confidence in his offer of a suspect.  


Reluctant to disturb a guest of the Windsor when the damn cravat pin was probably laying under the bed or a chaise cushion, Jack made a speedy decision. “Collins, while I follow up on Mr. Powell’s information, please confirm the cravat pin is not on the premises.”  


Mr. Powell pursed his lips and turned slightly red, but chose to remain silent.  


As Hugh and Mr. Powell discussed where to begin the search of the suite, Jack approached the door indicated by the valet. This suite, just two doors down and across the hall from Mr. Bullock’s, had a more ornate door with carved flowers and vines indicating the deeper pockets of the guest. He prepared his identity card, knocked with all his authority and annoyance, and waited for the occupant to answer.

.....

Phryne flung open her suite door and stopped. 

Jack’s rehearsed policeman’s spiel did not fall from his gaping mouth. 

Into the stretching silence, they dimly heard Mr. Powell shout, “I found it!” 

Snapping first from her trance, Phryne grabbed Jack by his coat lapels, dragged him into her suite, and slammed the heavy door. 

.....

After making careful notes of the discovery in his book, Hugh looked up for the Inspector's next directive. Suddenly, Mr. Powell was profusely thanking Hugh and towing him down the hall to the lifts.  


“Thank you so much for your speedy assistance, Constable. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am to have made such an error. It must have fallen there while I was gathering up the items for the laundry. How glad I am we did not need to involve Mr. Bullock! All is resolved. And not too late! You must be done with your shift. Are you done with your shift?”  


Hugh could barely nod before Mr. Powell whisked him out of the lift and past the front desk.  


“How fine, and you must have a sweetheart! Do you have a sweetheart? Do take her to the pictures? I love a good picture! _The Kid Stakes_ , such fun. Have you seen it? Oh, but your sweetheart must love _The Sheik_. Does she? (He winked at Hugh, conspiratorially.) Of course she does! How wonderful!"

The Concierge himself smartly opened the door and gave a brief nod to Mr. Powell as he deposited Hugh on the front steps of the Windsor.  


"And here we are. Thank you again for your quick resolution of the situation, Constable. Enjoy your evening with your sweetheart.”

Hugh's head spun a moment from the whirlwind of Mr. Powell’s nonstop chatter. He turned back to locate the Inspector as Dot stepped out from the cab. 

“Oh Hugh! I found you! Your shift is done, isn’t it? Do we have time to take a walk before the picture begins? It’s such a lovely evening.” 

…..

Mr. Butler and Mr. Powell and Mr. George enjoyed a glass of port together. Other men jockeyed for position at the bar as they sat cozily ensconced in a corner table discussing the outcome of military maneuvers.

“Hiding it in the potted fern was a spark of artistic genius, Tobias.”  
“You always said my talent was wasted in service, Gene. I think you need to reevaluate your opinion.”  
“I do indeed. And your attention to detail Robert, impeccable! The two doors were positioned perfectly so I could stand unseen inside the suite while watching Miss Fisher’s.”  
“ _Thank you_ , Gene. I am just gratified that you were able to sweep Constable Collins out to Miss Williams before he disrupted our, ahem, guests with a search party.”

All three men grinned and toasted to triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Deus ex machina_ is a Latin phase meaning "god from the machine".  
>  The phrase was coined by Aristotle to describe a device used to resolve the plot of tragedies.  
> Arguments still rage that Euripides, not Aeschylus developed the plot device.  
> However, all agree that both Greek playwrights used the technique to (some criticize) neatly resolve messy plots.
> 
> But as Miss Fisher has already established, Mr. B is "an angel incarnate" and therefore nothing is out of his power to fix.


	6. Deuxième Partie: Goose Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the night that ended so very badly.

### Deuxième Partie: Goose Egg

She lingered under the water. Hoping. Waiting.  
She wasn’t quite clear how Jack could not succumb to her charms or her wardrobe. This moment had taken weeks of web spinning to arrange. And then _the spider_. Ugh. She shivered. But it all may have worked to her advantage anyway… she continued to hope.

She jumped slightly when the door slammed open and Jack rushed into the bathroom. Turning to face him, she saw that he was a man possessed. His eyes blazed with a furious lust.

_What a woman’s lingerie can do to a man!_

A smile spread across her face as Jack kicked off his shoes.  
When he shrugged off his jacket and leaned under the spout to take her, her heart fluttered and a heat filled her that had nothing to do with the water. Jack’s arms enveloped her as his mouth covered hers. _Patience may not be my middle name…_

His glorious lips moved so invitingly that hers opened and welcomed him in further, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Phryne sensed there was a problem. Falling back into the tango of their tongues, Phryne lost the thought. Then it came to her—clothes! Before it became impossible—and it would _soon_ become impossible she knew from experience, Jack needed to get out of his wet suit. Phryne tried to unbutton Jack’s waistcoat and shirt whilst Jack continued to occupy her mouth.

Phryne pleaded around his tongue, “Jack, I want to touch you. All of you.” He grunted something incoherent and attempted to unbutton his trousers one-handed, as his other hand was preoccupied with the skin of her waist.

His hands were so lovely and oh so needy: grasping, clutching, stroking, kneading, massaging, pulling her closer, tighter. She was softening into warm dough under his fingers, but to not see all of him, stroke every part of him? Unbearable. She needed to make him focus. Make herself focus.

Given that she was standing naked in a shower, wet—in many different ways, and itching to get her hands on what was under those damn layers, Phryne’s voice took on an incongruous, authoritative ring, “Jack, stop that and hold still.” She needed to repeat herself. Firmly. Several times. “Hold still.” Reluctantly, Jack heard and (mostly) obeyed: he slowed his hands and released her a few inches.

She managed eventually—with some false starts and several promising fouls below the belt—to remove not two, but three(!) layers from his torso before she revealed Jack’s chest. That bathing costume he wore in Queenscliff did not do him justice. Beneath that navy blue nonsense was a lean, tawny lion roaring to escape confinement. She was pleased to make it possible. With the water splashing and cooling onto his bare chest, his nipples hardened instantly. Nipping at them with her teeth gave Jack the implied consent to begin his ministrations to her jaw with renewed ardor. 

“Jack! Just one more moment. Let me get your trousers off before you climb in with me.” _Please climb in with me._

The fabric of his trousers had become quite damp from the outside as well as the inside, so the enterprise took longer than Jack’s patience could apparently endure. He bent to murmur into her hair and caress the skin of her back thereby amusing himself but vexing Phryne to the point of her contemplating scissors.  
_Maybe too close to Jack’s manhood. It would be a shame to end the evening before I have the chance to feel that inside me._ She grinned. Her replacement pessary had not arrived too soon. 

Ripping the threads of the last buttons with tremendous frustration, Phryne released Jack’s trousers with a satisfied aha! She pulled back to look up into Jack’s intense eyes. Without breaking eye contact she inserted her hands into his waistband and stroked trousers, undershorts, garters, and socks down his legs. Clutching the edge of the tub for support, Jack kicked off the sloppy jumble and stepped in to join her.

Still crouched under the spout in front of Jack, Phryne was eye-to-eye with the rest of him. Skimming her hands from his (ticklish!) toes to his ankles, from his calves to his knees (not knobby!), from his muscular (trembling!) thighs to his hips, Phryne inventoried every spot that would require her further investigation. Then with eyes gleaming she glanced up at him before leaning in to take his cock into her mouth. 

His expression: exquisite. A blend of wonder and wolfish hunger misted with tearful adoration. His mouth opened and a noise not unlike a keen ripped from his chest. Phryne nearly bit him in surprise—it was a close thing. 

Then the momentous occasion struck her: _Jack! In her tub! Naked! With his cock in her mouth!_ She almost laughed in giddy excitement. Jack winding his hands into her wet hair made her shiver with the pleasure to come.

His cock was not the largest she’d had—she inwardly sighed with relief—nor was it the smallest—well, she’d known that since the Imperial Club—, but rather it was perfect. Perfect for wrapping a hand around and giving a devious little stroke as she licked him like an ice cream. _Oh, Jack was going to be such fun!_

Taking his balls into her other hand, she tested his sensitivity and found him able to withstand a gentle nail grazing. His moan made her flush with more heat. 

Abruptly, she felt him tense and inhale sharply. “Phryne, I’m going to…” He threw his head back and moaned gloriously through his (all-too-soon) climax. Her mouth still around him, swallowing all of him, Phryne realized that she had never felt so much pleasure whilst giving someone else pleasure. Coming back to himself, Jack gazed down at her and wiped some water off her cheek. Cheekily, she grazed his balls again and giggled when he flinched.

Pulling her to stand with him under the shower, Jack now took stock of her features. His hands so broad he seemed to touch her everywhere. His fingers so delicate, he seemed to glide across her wet skin. He crouched down to stroke his hands up her smooth legs. She had a difficult time not squirming when he went behind her knees. Over her hips and across her abdomen, he steadied her when her footing slipped in the water. He grazed his nails across her nipples and her breathing hitched. When he leaned in to her collarbones, she felt his breath caress her. 

Then with his searing mouth, he attacked. Her skin, flushed warm before, ignited. As he nuzzled against her neck, she arched back against the cold tiles. Her brain struggled to make sense of the contrasting perceptions of hot mouth, warm shower spray, and cold tile. Instead all sensation intensified. Phryne whimpered.

Jack’s hands crept down her back and clutched to hold her in place as he moved his mouth to her breasts. Her nipples responded to his fire by erupting into tingling points of heat. Phryne griped Jack’s shoulders to keep herself upright. 

When Jack’s hand traveled to the place between her legs, Phryne nearly cried. His eyes sought out hers again to reassure himself of her acquiescence. Then hesitantly, Jack felt around to orient himself to Phryne’s geography before crossing into the unknown. 

With deliberate gentleness, Jack inserted one, long finger into her. _Not enough!_ “More, Jack!” Sliding the first finger out, he slid two back in. He slid them in and out again, but not deep enough. “Deeper!” He grinned as he pressed his fingers as deep as he could reach. “Yes!” Not needing more clarification, Jack pressed in again with agonizing slowness. Steadily, he increased his pace until Phryne’s breath started coming out in low moans. 

Then Jack curled his fingers and Phryne shrieked. _Jack was going to be such fun!_

Dot burst into the bathroom, “Is it another spider, Miss?” In a moment she took in the scene and screamed in embarrassed surprise. 

Jack straightened up too quickly in the wet tub and lost his footing. He fell banging the back of his head on the tub’s edge. 

Mr. Butler came in after Dot and together all three rushed to Jack’s prone body. He was unconscious. 

Phryne turned to shut off the water. Dot left to fetch a robe for Phryne. Mr. Butler went downstairs for the first aid kit. 

…..

When Jack came to, he was lying beside Phryne in her bed. He pieced together exactly how he’d come to be in his current position… exactly who had helped put him there… he touched the goose egg on his head. And decided he could not endure this again. He fled into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's wet wool suit would prove difficult to remove if the wool had absorbed a lot of water.  
> But due to the nature of wool fiber it does not absorb water that fast.  
> Please suspend your disbelief all winter wool wearers.
> 
> The shower I envisioned is a stylish [1926 Crane Bathroom](http://antiquehomestyle.com/inside/bathrooms/1920s/gallery/page09.htm) in yellow and blue tile.


End file.
